The
deafening music shook the lamps outside even after the door swung shut
and left me huddling alone in the frigid alley. Foul wind blasted the
reek of stale garbage and piss between the bar and the butcher shop next
door, and I had to duck my head behind a dumpster to get the cigarette
lit.
The night sky groaned as I tilted back against the wall and frowned. Had I rolled my windows up? Nobody was going to steal my rolling toilet, but no way was I gonna drive home at three in the freezing morning with rain-soaked seats. I sighed and tucked my hands into the pockets of my heavy coat as I started down the narrow, littered walk toward the lot.
I kicked a trash can at the lip of the alley, rolling it right out into the empty street. My little coupe sat alone in the center of the blacktop, parked square between the heaps of trash and sand blown in from the waste around the block. I had only just reached the open window when the tape I'd left playing in the bar screeched, whining and sputtering out like something had smashed the deck apart.
Without the distraction to drown it out, without the simulated noise of the long-dead city, I could hear their own song as clear as a bell. It drifted up from the storm drains along the road and poured down from the higher windows of the scrapers across the street, an operatic tenor of chilling beauty.
My father's last words replayed in my head: If you can hear them, they can take you.
The cigarette tumbled from my mouth as I fumbled through the many pockets of my coat for keys. I dove into the car, shoving tools and bottles off the console as I gunned the engine and crossed the lowest pile of garbage around the edge of the lot. I could just make out the shape loping out the open doorway of the bar as I took off down the road.
I couldn't breathe until I hit the interstate. I pulled over five miles outside town and wretched into the scrub along the shoulder. I held my head until it stopped spinning, and I sank against the door with a quiet sob.
And when it all slowed down, I heard at last the gentle sing-song voice pouring from my trunk, and the thump as it pushed the hatch open from the inside.
One hope left, I thought, reaching into the passenger seat for the screwdriver.
After all, if you can hear them...
The night sky groaned as I tilted back against the wall and frowned. Had I rolled my windows up? Nobody was going to steal my rolling toilet, but no way was I gonna drive home at three in the freezing morning with rain-soaked seats. I sighed and tucked my hands into the pockets of my heavy coat as I started down the narrow, littered walk toward the lot.
I kicked a trash can at the lip of the alley, rolling it right out into the empty street. My little coupe sat alone in the center of the blacktop, parked square between the heaps of trash and sand blown in from the waste around the block. I had only just reached the open window when the tape I'd left playing in the bar screeched, whining and sputtering out like something had smashed the deck apart.
Without the distraction to drown it out, without the simulated noise of the long-dead city, I could hear their own song as clear as a bell. It drifted up from the storm drains along the road and poured down from the higher windows of the scrapers across the street, an operatic tenor of chilling beauty.
My father's last words replayed in my head: If you can hear them, they can take you.
The cigarette tumbled from my mouth as I fumbled through the many pockets of my coat for keys. I dove into the car, shoving tools and bottles off the console as I gunned the engine and crossed the lowest pile of garbage around the edge of the lot. I could just make out the shape loping out the open doorway of the bar as I took off down the road.
I couldn't breathe until I hit the interstate. I pulled over five miles outside town and wretched into the scrub along the shoulder. I held my head until it stopped spinning, and I sank against the door with a quiet sob.
And when it all slowed down, I heard at last the gentle sing-song voice pouring from my trunk, and the thump as it pushed the hatch open from the inside.
One hope left, I thought, reaching into the passenger seat for the screwdriver.
After all, if you can hear them...
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